


Where the thunder turns around

by darkersky



Series: I am violence [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkersky/pseuds/darkersky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wonders, almost idly, if there are any magical realms where she could actually not encounter piles of dead human flesh.</p><p>(Sequel to "I am violence as the rain falls". Post S2 finale. Plenty of angst and violence. It's Neverland, after all. And what happens in Neverland doesn't exactly stay there either.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. I'm sorry if this comes sooner than I promised and/or you expected. Because who needs sleep? No, seriously, the only way to get this monster out of my head was to write it. Chapter 1 has plenty of Hook, but, well, you'll see. And don't worry, I do have a thing for happy endings. It's too bad I also have a thing for torturous slow burn romance (à la canon Swan Queen) ;)

 

_The killer in me is the killer in you_

_My love_

(The Smashing Pumpkins – _Disarm_ )

  

 

***

  

"Tomorrow by noon," Hook says.

He looks uncharacteristically pensive, and doesn't even bother with anything filthy.

That unnerves Emma almost more than anything.

 

***

 

"Hook said tomorrow by noon."

"That means it's time for the cloaking spell."

"I will help you."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Need I really remind you of the fact that you will need all your strength tomorrow?"

"But..."

"No. One more step to follow me, Miss Swan, and I swear I will –"

"What? Kill me?"

Regina's eyes are dark and furious and more than a little desperate.

"Fine. Whatever," Emma says, throwing up her hands.

  

***

 

Emma can't sleep. It's not just the nightmares she knows would follow, because how much worse could those even get really? She has already seen her own death play out in front of her eyes in so many ways that, honestly, she thinks it's almost quite astonishing how many ways there are to destroy a human being.

Though it hasn't only been her own death that she's seen. Because, while that is pretty upsetting as far as sights go, it's nothing compared to the sight of a shadow devouring Henry, her parents, even Regina. But more often than not Henry.

She has seen their deaths and felt their pain. Henry's death and Henry's pain.

She has woken up, covered in cold sweat, breath hitching. And always, without exception, there's been a surprisingly strong arm pinning her down, making sure her cranium is safe from collisions with the floor. And always, without exception, after she has calmed down, the arm has retreated, the act usually followed by a sarcastic remark like, "Do you have to be so loud?" or sometimes a plain, though surprisingly non-aggressive, "Shut up." And then there have been those couple of times of just a simple "Shhh" whispered in a tone that has made Emma wonder if that's the tone Regina has used to soothe Henry whenever he has had a bad dream.

There's always as much physical distance between them as is humanly possible in the cramped space. Emotionally, on the other hand, well, Emma doesn't really know. In a way this is more of a practical solution than anything else. It's a means to an end – to Emma being able to rest at least a little before the mission ahead. Or at least that's as far as she is willing to let her thoughts wander right now.

And in a way it's somehow better than the guilty, sympathetic looks she receives from her parents. They are in the perfect position to understand her guilt over whatever Henry is experiencing at the moment, but they don't understand that she can actually deal with that part. She can deal with the nightmares and the guilt.

Because it's not like she hasn't had a bad dream before or felt guilt over something she has done.

So no, her sleeplessness tonight has almost nothing to do with nightmares and everything to do with the fact that in less than 24 hours she will be somewhere in a jungle with a one-handed pirate and, regardless of all the planning, she has no idea what will actually happen. She wonders if this is how people feel before going to war – uncertain, empty, scared, and determined all at the same time.

She rolls onto her back. As she glances at the person she expects to see sleeping beside her, she finds herself looking at eyes that are open and black as coal and staring at her very intently.

"You are awake," Emma says.

Regina says, "I killed Graham."

And it's pretty much the last thing Emma expects to hear right here, right now, under these circumstances. "What?"

"Deep down you knew it, didn't you?"

"I..." Emma has no idea what to say. She can't say that she did or that she didn't.

"Do you know why I did it?"

"I guess... Because he was starting to remember?" Because, fine, okay, whatever, they can talk about Graham's death instead of the fact that there's a kid in need of rescuing – talking about that has been all they and the others have done for the past week and everything connected to the rescue mission is beyond anything talking can achieve at this point anyway. It's all down to carefully executing a plan now, even if there are countless uncertainties.

"No, the fact that he remembered parts of who he had been didn't matter. Even if he had remembered all of it, no one would have believed him."

"He talked to Henry. Henry believed him."

"No one ever believed Henry." There's a certain sadness in Regina's voice.

A pang of guilt. _Yeah, not even me, his mother_ _the_ _glorious_ _Savior_. "Then why kill Graham?" It's actually pretty absurd how casually they can discuss cold-blooded murder, but then again, the absurd has pretty much become the norm in Emma's life anyway.

"Do you know what happens when you take someone's heart?"

"I... I am familiar with the process."

"So you know that the one taking the heart... can control the person whose heart it is? Make them do whatever one wants them to do?"

"Yeah."

"In more ways than one, they, literally, do what the person in possession of the heart wants."

"Yes, that's what controlling them means." Emma is confused.

"You don't get it, do you? Can't think of anything that Graham did that was, let's say, out of the ordinary?"

"Well, let's see.... He arrested me a couple of times and... Well, he hired me, but that was really him, not you, I guess. Other than that..." _H_ _e suddenly had the_ _extremely_ _random urge to kiss me_ _for no reason at all_ _._ "Oh my _god_."

"I see your brain finally caught up."

"Damn it, Regina. Why are you telling me this? Like, at all?"

"Because I might never see you again after tomorrow, and you have the right to know."

"What am I supposed to do with this knowledge?" Because, for fuck's sake, it would be so much easier to think of Regina as someone who has done things like cold-blooded murder in the very distant past, way before Henry. Besides, Graham is not someone Emma really thinks about these days. He's just someone she had thought she was on the verge of getting to know and then he just... suddenly hadn't been anything at all anymore, other than a few confusing shared moments, the unpleasant memory of clutching a lifeless body in her arms, and the leather jacket buried in the back of the supply closet at the station.

"You can do whatever you want with it."

Emma sighs. "You could have just killed _me_ instead. Problem solved. Absolutely no kissing required."

"I couldn't have, actually. The way the curse was designed would have prevented it from happening. And killing you was no longer an option at that point anyway. Henry would've been miserable."

Emma closes her eyes and lets the backs of her hands rest on her forehead. "Or you could have just acted like a normal human being and _talked_ about your... whatever it was you were feeling that Graham was... channeling. I don't mean to me, but like, to a friend or Archie or something." It sounds as stupid when said aloud as it had sounded in Emma's head.

"Oh, believe me, what I was feeling was pure hatred. The fact that I may have had other... _desires_ , if you will, didn't diminish that at all. Quite on the contrary, in fact. And I know ignorant fools say it's a fine line, and perhaps it is for some, but my brand of pure hatred has always been rather... uncomplicated. It's been uniformly destructive."

"Right." Because what else can she say? She can't help asking, though, if not for any other reason than to fill the silence (that and/or morbid curiosity), "What changed?"

"What do you mean?"

"What made you... not hate me anymore? Or hate me... in a more complicated way or whatever?"

"You saved Henry's life. And then you saved my life even after you found out who I really was. That was... well, unexpected is probably the best word for what it was. But most importantly, you saved Henry's life. And, well, you know what they say about absence and the heart." Regina's voice is heavy with sarcasm.

"Right. Not hating me was easier when I wasn't around." Emma can't help the small tired chuckle, because, whatever, nothing makes sense anyway.

She realizes that the logical reaction to all of this should be to run – to run as far away from Regina as possible, because who does things like murder just because someone they, well, _hate_ , kisses someone else? Murder should never feel trivial. Seeing someone being murdered in a dream is something that becomes untrue once the dream is over, but an actual murder... there's nothing that can reverse it.

But she doesn't run. There's no point. Maybe later, if, no, _when_ they are back to their regular lives, she will.

Because at least here, with Regina, she is not subjected to nervous pats on the back and reassuring words and food offerings filled with so much apologetic love that the love becomes suffocating and makes functioning more difficult.

It's not much but it's not... little either. And it makes staying right here, right now, the only rational solution.

So, slowly, despite the ever-present thought of _how is there any way any of this can end well_ , she falls into a light slumber.

  

***

  

Nobody dies in the dream. It's just inky black darkness and the feeling of being totally alone in the forest.

It's the familiar feeling of being totally alone in the world.

  

***

 

Saying goodbyes when they very well might actually be just that isn't pleasant at all. Instead it is incredibly awkward and makes Emma wish she could have just slipped onto the little raft in the dead of night without having to face anyone.

Her mom and dad pull her into such a tight family hug that her ribs actually hurt a little. "We love you so much," her mom whispers in her ear, and Emma hopes they can hear the appropriate response in the "Yeah" she manages to get out.

Gold offers her a semi-fond half-smile and says, "Good luck, Miss Swan. Don't forget how powerful your magic is. And whatever you do, don't forget what powers it."

Hook stands there, ready to go, and says, "If you landlubbers do any damage to my ship whilst I am gone, you are swimming back to your lovely hometown."

David grabs the front of Hook's shirt and hisses, "And if you do anything that puts Emma in danger, there will be serious consequences."

"I am pretty sure your daughter can fend for herself, mate. When she punched me it actually hurt a little," Hook says, and, for a fleeting moment, Emma asks herself if they actually _have_ become something resembling friends.

And Regina... She is not even looking at Emma. She is staring at the island looming so close that they can see the wind playing in the leaves of the mangroves growing on the shore. Emma wonders if Regina is making this easier on purpose. Her heart aches a little either despite or because of the gratefulness she feels.

  

***

 

The water is shallow.

The ocean floor is visible through the surface and as Emma peers into the clear waters, she can see sand, small fish, rocks and...

She can't help the little yelp.

Bones. Lots and lots of bones.

"Some children try to escape. The mermaids absolutely love that because they appreciate regular meal times," Hook says.

Despite the tropical heat, Emma feels a chill in her bones. She hopes with all of her being that Henry is, for once, not attempting any heroics.

  

***

  

The next shock comes as they reach the small wooden dock hidden from view in a small lagoon.

Even from a distance Emma can see two masses sprawled on the sand.

She knows what she is seeing before she actually properly sees or, well, smells them.

Two bodies.

Two heads.

A good few feet between each head and their respective bodies.

Blood.

So much dried blood.

Despite the horrendous condition of the bodies (thanks to the heat and... whatever small or slightly bigger creatures that enjoy human flesh there are on this island), it is reasonably easy to identify them as Greg and Tamara because of the clothes and the slightly darker hue of the gray strips of skin left on the female corpse.

Someone has gotten to them before Emma.

If whoever that had been, had been willing to do... _that_ to people seemingly allied with them, Emma doesn't really want to know what happens to their enemies.

She wonders, almost idly, if there are any magical realms where she could actually _not_ encounter piles of dead human flesh.

"Which way?" she asks, desperate to breathe fresher air.

"I don't know," Hook says.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know where exactly they are keeping your son. But we might want to try the site where the Lost Ones have their camp. He could still be there."

"Those guys are your friends, right?" Because there has to be something about this island that isn't totally hostile and fucked up.

"Oh no, darling. They hate me and I am quite certain they'd like to see me suffer a painful death."

"What the hell, Hook? Why?"

"Things didn't exactly end on a good note between us... As you might have guessed had you pondered even for a second why I am not still happily gallivanting the waters round this island. It's almost as if you never just sit down and think of me."

"You have a lot of enemies, pirate," Emma says, sighing.

"Is that a smidgen of judgement I hear in your voice, Swan? Because so do you. Not to even speak of that ladylove of yours who I am sure would easily win the contest for having the most enemies between the three of us."

"Whatever. Let's just get on with this." Emma pulls Gold's gun from the waistband of her jeans. She is sure as hell not getting into the forest without a deadly weapon in her hands.

 

***

  

The first attack comes just as the darkness is about to fall on the first night.

They are hiding in the thick bushes surrounding the little clearing where Emma can see several huts.

Suddenly Emma's peripheral vision catches sight of a blue light and as she turns, she sees...

A fairy.

A fairy about to raise her wand.

In a few milliseconds she thinks of several things.

She wonders if fairies are like dragons and can't be harmed with bullets.

Then she realizes that firing a gun is pretty damn hard to do without drawing attention to their whereabouts.

Then she thinks of Henry and protecting him and she sees a flash of green...

... and the fairy squeals, like a small dying animal, her eyes widen in horror and she...

... drops dead to the ground, wings blackened and face frozen, the wand slipping from her grasp.

Emma stares at the dead fairy in front of her and _oh my god, I just used magic to kill someone_ , and then she feels her whole body shake with a sickening rush. It's pure powerfulness running in her veins.

"Aww, look at that. Poor Tinker never saw that coming." Hook's voice comes from somewhere behind Emma.

"Is that... Was that... Was that _Tinkerbell_?" Emma asks, a little shakily, because Tinkerbell is good, right? Right?! _Oh my god, I just_ _accidentally_ _used magic to kill a_ _perfectly_ _good fairy._

"Oh, don't worry, love. She is quite a pain in the arse. Or _was_ , I should say, thanks to you. She did always love the smell of fresh blood. Probably killed the old friends we met at the beach."

Emma feels nauseated.

 

***

  

There seems to be absolutely no one at the Lost Ones' camp and it's dangerous to remain in one place for a much longer period of time, what with dead fairies lying around and all.

"They must have taken him to Peter already," Hook says.

"Peter Pan?" Emma asks. She _knows_ Hook means Peter Pan, but. Yeah. Come on.

"The one and only."

"Do you know where we can find him?"

"Not exactly. He likes to keep in motion. But once it gets dark, we'll be able to hear it."

"What do you mean _hear it_?"

"You'll know soon enough, love."

 

***

 

When they are on the move again, Emma reaches into the satchel she's carrying, intending to take a sip of water in order to fight the nausea that's threatening to overcome her. She can't get the image of the lifeless body of the fairy or the decomposing bodies on the beach out of her head and what's worse, those images keep overlapping with the image of Henry.

In addition to the water bottle, her hand comes in contact with something...

... cool and hard.

She pulls it out and realizes it's the diamond. The failsafe. The trigger. The one that was supposed to destroy Storybrooke. She can't help staring at it.

Because what the hell? She is pretty damn sure that her list of things to bring with her to the island didn't contain a metaphorical bullet point that said _One_ _ginormous_ _diamond._

She traces the edges of the diamond with her index finger and is astonished to see small lines, like small bolts of lightning, dancing _inside_ the rock.

She is even more astonished when she realizes the nausea is gone. She feels calm. Energized, even.

 _Regina_ , she thinks. Because who else could have put it in the satchel when Regina had been the one who had it in the first place?

Unless it is yet another one of Gold's magical mind games of course.

But she doesn't care. She is willing to accept any help she can get. So she slides the diamond into her pocket.

 

***

  

The sound comes from somewhere deep in the pitch-dark forest.

It's a creepy wailing sound – the sound of countless children crying. It sends chills down Emma's spine.

"Poor bastards," Hook says.

"My son is not a bastard," Emma says venomously.

"Well, technically..."

"My son is not a _technicality_ , do you understand?" For a second Emma actually feels like pointing the gun at Hook.

"Aye, aye, princess." Hook mock salutes her.

It doesn't comfort Emma at all and she thinks, for the millionth time, that she is in the forest with the wrong person. She closes her eyes for a second, and feels the diamond in her pocket with her hand.

After a while, she can breathe again, despite the horrendous sound. 

"We'll have to follow the crying," Emma says.

So they do.

  

***

  

The crying sounds from somewhere slightly closer, but it's gotten so dark that there's no way they can continue without accidentally running into something or someone dangerous. So they decide to rest for a while, at least until there's some more light.

"Since there's nothing we can do right now, can you answer one question for me, Swan?"

"I probably can, but it's likely I won't," Emma says absently. Her thoughts are somewhere elsewhere. Mostly wherever Henry is. She keeps staring at the diamond on her palm. It seems to be working better than Red Bull because she's not tired at all.

"What is it about mean old Queenie that you find so utterly irresistible?"

Emma sighs. _This again_. "You do realize that you are obsessed with, you know, that whole thing?"

"Is that what the kids in your world call that? A _thing_?"

"The kids in my world call many things a _thing_."

"Is it just the undeniably attractive physique or is it something else?"

 _No, not now. Not now._ "It's... I don't know, Hook, okay? Can we talk about what really matters here which is saving Henry?"

"I shall take that as 'something else'. Though, honestly, I was hoping for the other answer." Hook looks almost... pained? What the hell? 

"What is it that you're trying to say?" Because apparently the only way Hook is going to be able to focus is if he can get whatever is bothering him out of his chest. Then something clicks in Emma's head. "Wait, are you, like, in love with her or something?"

"Perhaps the tiniest bit. But not with her," Hook says quietly.

 _Wait, what?_ "Oh. I'm... I'm sorry? I... I didn't realize." Emma _does_ feel a little sorry for the guy. Because if there's one thing she knows about... these things, it's that sometimes they can be pretty uncontrollable, not to mention pretty fucking unlooked-for.

"That seems to be your problem, Swan. You refuse to see love even when it is staring at you."

"I haven't even noticed any staring from you," Emma points out, because, truthfully, Hook hasn't been the first, second, or even the third person on her mind lately.

"I wasn't talking about me, darling. I suppose I should have said you refuse to see it staring at you with brown eyes."

"I'm not sure that's... what it is," Emma says, because _kind of knowing_ something doesn't exactly mean _believing_ it. Besides, these are extraordinary circumstances anyway. Hell, her whole life for the past year has been a seemingly never-ending series of extraordinary circumstances. That kind of thing messes with your head and it probably also messes with everyone else's heads around you.

"Don't be dense. I wasn't certain of your feelings, but Her Majesty? She is good at hiding her emotions but even she can't hide _that_. Besides, she looked downright murderous when I sat next to you at supper once." 

"I..." Emma finds herself at a loss of words. Because how fucked up is it that Regina's murderous may very well actually mean murderous? Like, _killing Graham_ levels of murderous. But Hook is still alive, so that must mean something's changed, right? But then again, this is really not something that she should be focusing on so, "Let's just find Henry, okay?"

"Fine. Let's concentrate on getting your son home."

The discussion feels a little incomplete, though, because, despite everything, Emma can't help sympathizing a little with her almost-friend. "Oh, and Hook? The next time you are trying to win someone's heart, maybe try a little less sexual predator-ish approach. Like, right from the beginning."

"Aye, princess. Although it is quite within the realms of possibility that there won't be a next time."

"What do you mean? I'm sure you'll get over me. People usually do." Emma knows her attempt at levity is pretty weak, but whatever.

"Perchance, yes." Hook, seemingly unconsciously, touches the tattoo on his arm. "However, this island often requires... sacrifice."

"What kind of sacrifice?"

"The kind that means that you must be willing to leave me behind if something transpires that requires that."

"No, we are in this together. I'm not leaving you behind."

"Yes, you are." Hook looks determined as he takes something from his jacket pocket. "Here, you'd better have this." 

It's a magic bean. And _wait a minute_... "I thought you didn't have more beans?"

"How did you think you would get back home? Sail round the world till you happily stumble upon a portal that just happens to lead to Storybrooke? I took two beans because I don't like being trapped. I merely wanted to have the remaining one with me in case someone, most likely my dear Crocodile, should have decided to threaten to toss me overboard on our journey. Call it a life insurance if you will."

Emma takes the bean and slips it into her pocket together with the diamond. "Thanks," is all she says. Even though she has no intention of abandoning Hook, it feels good to know that there's an exit strategy and that it's in her hands.

  

***

 

The crying gets weaker the lighter the sky becomes.

They follow it for a while, but then it's gone, and they have to stop.

They take turns sleeping under the scorching sun. The forest in both the dreams and in reality is eerily quiet.

It reminds Emma of the way the world goes quiet just before a storm hits. She knows the quiet is usually followed by heavy wind and then the rain falls and thunder rolls.

 

***

  

Finally, close to dawn on the third night, they reach the small valley that seems to be the origin of all the crying.

Emma can't help feeling that this is where everything either begins or ends.

"In the morning it's time for us to face jolly old Pete," Hook says, darkly.

They haven't really been talking much during the past two days, most of their time having been occupied with walking, finding non-lethal sources of food and water, and sleeping. There's been the occasional tired argument of course, but nothing dramatic.

"Do you think he knows we are here?"

"I wouldn't doubt that even for a second."

"How come there haven't been any more attacks on us? You know, after the whole fairy thing?"

"Ah, Peter does enjoy playing with his victims. He likes lulling them into a false sense of security before slowly putting them out of their misery."

"He sounds like a sick fuck."

"Why would you call him a sick act of fornication?" Hook sounds confused.

"Because that's something the kids in my world call someone who enjoys... this kind of thing. Torture, murder, kidnapping..."

"I fail to see the sense in that figure of speech, but yes, I suppose that's what Peter is."

"So what do we do?"

"Well, luckily for us, darling, he has one weakness."

"What's that?"

"He just absolutely can't control his anger when he comes face-to-face with someone who has betrayed him. It's especially true of adults."

"And how is that a good thing?"

"Because I betrayed him." 

"What did you do this time?"

"How do you think Baelfire escaped Neverland? But it's a long tale, one that we don't have time for right now."

"But Neal seemed to... not like you that much?"

"Oh yes, as you might have noticed, I am not exactly great at human relations. But that's another long tale. What matters here is that Peter will be distracted once he sees me."

"What are you saying, Hook?"

"I think you know what I'm saying."

 

***

  

Somehow, the laughter is even more disturbing than the crying.

It could be a scene from a movie about a perfectly happy summer camp.

The kids, all of them boys, are running around the valley, chasing each other, occasionally diving into the small lake from the top of the small waterfall, playing in the water, giggling, laughing, splashing water at each other.

No matter how hard Emma looks, though, she can't see Henry among them. She can feel panic rising in her chest.

There's a group of older teenage guys hanging by the lake as well. Emma is pretty sure they are the Lost Ones whose role seems to be basically the same as a camp counselor’s – they make sure that the younger kids are safe and stay within the perimeters of the valley. Except that normally camp counselors don't have huge knives hanging from their belts. Not that Emma has much experience of summer camps, but she assumes armed guards aren't a regular part of the experience...

She is standing at the edge of the forest. There's no point in hiding if what Hook said about Peter Pan being aware of their presence on the island is true.

So, really, this is where everything either begins or ends.

"Hello. I don't think we have met. My name's Peter Pan," someone says from behind Emma. The voice sounds kind of juvenile, like that of a teenage boy whose voice has only very recently gotten deeper.

 _He's definitely not Robin Williams_.

For some ridiculous reason, that's Emma's first thought when she sees the figure, clad in a green hooded robe, face hidden from view.

"I'm pretty sure we have met, actually," Emma says, attempting to sound calm and collected.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The dreams? With all the killing?"

"Oh, surely you are old enough to know that dreams aren't true." Peter Pan makes a dismissing gesture with one hand.

"Yes. And that better mean that my son is okay. Where is he?"

"I see, a parent looking for their child. We don't see many of those here. What's your son's name?"

"Henry. Henry Mills."

"Oh. The special boy. Well, he's right over there," the shadow says and points towards a small rock, half hidden by greenery.

And it's true.

It's Henry. Henry's there.

Henry, lying unconscious on the ground, only his upper body visible under the vegetation. His chest keeps falling and rising so, _oh my god thank you universe_ , he is alive. Emma's heart starts racing and she has an enormous urge to just run to him, but she knows that now is not the time for impulsiveness. Everything is at risk and she has no idea how Peter Pan or the guys with the knives would react if she did anything sudden. She knows she needs to follow the plan regardless of how much she wants to just strangle the freaky dude in front of her. 

"What did you do to him?" Emma asks, not able to keep the fury from her voice.

"Oh, I love children. I would never hurt them. See?" Peter Pan points at the kids playing by the lake. "They love it here."

"Well, then you had someone else hurt him. Same difference."

"No, no, no, no. He did that all by himself. He's quite feisty. I like that."

"In that case why don't you just let me take him home so he can, you know, keep on being feisty?" It's a long shot, but...

"Under normal circumstances I might let you try. But with this particular boy? No, I don't think so. I like him so I'm keeping him. Because you know what? Despite what everyone seems to think of me, I don't like them nice and scared. I prefer them lonely and angry, betrayed by grown-ups. I like to offer them a chance at a better tomorrow."

"Henry hasn't been betrayed by anyone. He has two parents who love him. He even had a third one for a while." Emma can't help the guilty feeling, though. Things really have to get better for Henry. Fighting over who has more right to him has done him no good.

"Oh, is that so? Because to me everything about him screams loneliness and betrayal. And what is more, there's all sorts of magic in him. Both light and dark. He's definitely staying. It was, after all, quite a bother finding him. I've been looking for him for the longest time."

"What do you mean you've been looking for him?" Emma is extremely confused. She's not sure if she's being played, but as far as her lie detector can be trusted these days, nothing indicates that Peter Pan is lying.

"Oh, well, once upon a time I made a deal with a fairy. Are you familiar with a particularly powerful one called Reul Ghorm?"

 _Reul... what?_ "Can't say I am."

"Well, she promised me I would one day find a boy strong enough to be my new... corporeal manifestation. And, well, now I have found him and I couldn't be happier about it." 

 _Corporeal manifestation?_ "Wh- what do you mean?"

"It means," the shadow takes off the hood and...

... and there's just darkness where his head should be. His eyes glow green. "It means I shall inhabit his body from now on. It's no fun having no body. I can't even swim on such a beautiful summer's day."

"No, you are not doing anything to him." Emma points the gun at Peter Pan.

He just laughs in a way that's creepily happy. "You can't shoot someone with no body. If you want to shoot me, do it after I have taken your son's outer appearance. Though, I doubt you'll be willing to do it then."

"You are not taking his body," Emma hisses.

"Yes, oh yes, I am. I will even let you witness the whole affair, because believe it or not, it's thanks to you that we are here. So yes, you deserve to see this and _then_ I'll move on to killing you. Just imagine what it will feel like to have your own son kill you and know that you deserve it." The shadow giggles.

Emma's heart is beating furiously because things are escalating pretty quickly and there has to be some way to stop this from happening. There has to be. 

 _Don't forget how powerful your magic is. And whatever you do, don't forget what powers it._ Emma tries to concentrate on what Gold said to her.

Emma looks at Henry and thinks of how much she loves him.

She thinks of her parents.

She thinks of Henry's other mother.

The shadow gasps, momentarily thrown off balance by the blue light.

And suddenly there's movement and...

Hook is there. The shadow takes one look at him, growls angrily, and bounds towards Hook, and maybe it's just enough distraction...

Emma runs towards Henry, gathers his unconscious body in her arms, and takes one look at Hook and at the kids playing such a short distance away and...

... it's a surprisingly, even disturbingly easy choice.

"I'm sorry!" she shouts at Hook.

"Go! I shall be fine! It's not my first time!" Hook shouts, burying his hook in the fabric of the shadow's robe.

So she runs.

She runs like hell.

 

***

  

She's panting like crazy, her lungs wheezing a little when she has to pause for a few seconds to catch her breath.

She hears sounds of running from behind her and sees one of the Lost Ones appear between the trees.

Then another appears.

And another.

They are all carrying knives, coming at Emma and Henry from all directions.

And they are just kids so she really hopes the magic that erupts from her isn't fatal...

... but she doesn't turn to check when they scream behind her.

  

***

  

Henry isn't breathing right.

He isn't breathing right and he is shivering despite his body feeling way too hot and Emma is in the forest and the beach is so, so far away, and she has no idea what else is lurking in the shadows.

She wishes she had a better understanding of how her magic works. She knows magic can be used to travel to another place in a matter of nanoseconds. She knows, because she has seen Regina disappear in a cloud of smoke but she has no idea how that's done. _And hey, Swan, maybe these are the kind of things you should have thought of_ _learning_ _beforehand?_

Emma feels like punching herself in the face.

Then she has a thought.

She takes the diamond from her pocket and hopes, desperately, that it can help her in any way. Because if there's even the slightest trace of Regina's magic there, maybe she can use that to... 

She closes her eyes and thinks of the beach, the sand, the horrible smell...

... and suddenly there's a twirl of violet and blue smoke and she feels the ground beneath her feet turn from hard detritus into soft sand.

 _Thank you_ , she thinks, the feeling of relief so immense that a small sob actually escapes from her lips.

  

***

  

Finally they reach the dock, and because the raft is invisible thanks to the cloaking spell, Emma doesn't really know which way to go.

So she jumps into the water, reaching around her, hoping to find the raft. She has Henry in her arms and she clutches him for dear life.

What she sees, instead of feeling the raft, is a horrifying creature clawing at her. And not just one but at least a dozen.

 _Mermaids_ , she thinks.

And apparently mermaids don't really have faces (what is it with this place and facelessness anyway?). They have a head full of green hair, but underneath it is just... greenish gray skin and a mouth full of teeth and their claws are sharp as knives.

So Emma throws Henry over her shoulder, holding him with one arm, and pulls out the gun, desperately hoping that mermaids aren't immune to gunfire. 

When a bullet hits one of the creatures, she sees blood and hears a screeching sound, and what she feels is gratitude.

The claws and teeth come from everywhere around her and she keeps blindly shooting in all directions, and it must be her magic at work as well, because she never seems to run out of bullets.

She's carrying Henry, she's waist deep in ocean water, and she keeps shooting.

Somewhere in the back of her mind is the image of her father carrying her towards the magical wardrobe, a sword in hand, desperate to get her safe from Regina.

Emma, on the other hand, is desperate to get Henry back _to_ Regina. Back to the ship.

So she keeps shooting, blood and gurgling sounds coming from everywhere around her.

She knows she must be soaked in mermaid blood, but she couldn't care less, because this is about Henry and only Henry.

When her hand comes in contact with the invisible raft, she tosses Henry's unconscious form onto it and slowly pulls herself on board as well.

She keeps shooting at the water long after the last desperate dying sound of a faceless mermaid. Then she just collapses, exhaustion overtaking every single one of her muscles, just hoping that something, whether it's her magic or a current, can lead the raft back to the ship.

  

***

  

It feels like an eternity, but, finally, there's someone there.

Someone pulling both Emma and Henry off the raft and onto the deck of the ship that appears from out of nowhere.

Someone tries to take Henry from Emma's arms, but she holds on to him.

She holds on to him and "Emma, oh god, are you hurt?" and "Is he alive?" and "Where's Hook?" and "Henry! Henry! HENRY!"

Only when Emma catches a glimpse of brown eyes, does she let go of Henry. "Heal him, please," she manages to whisper.

Then... darkness.

   

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

_What I want from this is learn to let go_

_No not of you, of all that's been told_

_But killers reinvent and believe_

_And this leans on me just like a rootless [tree]_

 

(Damien Rice – _Rootless Tree_ )

 

 

_[Y]ou’re incapable of feeling anything for anyone. There’s a reason you’re alone, isn’t there?_

(Regina to Emma in 1.07 "The Heart is a Lonely Hunter")

  

 

***

  

Everything hurts.

  

***

  

Hushed voices. 

"I am relatively certain those claw marks are from mermaids. And mermaids are curious creatures in the sense that there is no antidote for their poison. There's nothing magic or medicine can do."

"There has to be _something_."

"M- May I remind you, _Prince_ , that strangling someone rarely does anyone anything good. I seem to remember you and your wife telling me that, repeatedly even, when I wanted to off that wretched pirate."

"I... I apologize. I just need her to get better."

"For now let's just be grateful that the boy wasn't affected, and that your daughter was wise enough to choose the right weapon against the mermaids. Magic alone would have accomplished nothing. Bullets laden with magic on the other hand? A stroke of genius. Do not despair, she will be fine. Eventually."

 

***

 

The world keeps rocking.

Why does it keep rocking?

 

***

  

"Mom? Is Emma gonna be okay?"

"Yes."

"How do you know? She doesn't look... good."

"It's in her genes to survive. It's in your genes as well."

"Ouch, you're hugging me too hard."

"I'm, I'm sorry, Henry, I..."

"No, it's okay, mom. Really."

  

***

  

"I'm just going to try this. Please, don't laugh, but it worked when you thought I was dead. I just want you to be okay. Mom said something weird about Disneyland and I guess it could be fun to see how wrong they got everything... But it's not gonna be much fun if you're not there so... I... I love you."

A light kiss on her forehead.

A little less pain.

 

***

  

Mickey Mouse has no face.

Donald Duck has no face.

Mermaids have no faces. 

_... up where they walk, up where they run. Up where they stay all day in the sun..._

  

***

  

"Emma, honey... I... You'll be fine, I promise. We love you, okay?"

A hand clutching hers.

 

***

 

_What is love? Baby, don't hurt me._

_No more._

Bad car stereo. Yellow Bug. Forest in Tallahassee.

_What is love? Baby, don't hurt me._

_No more._

  

***

 

"Don't you dare die, Miss Swan. I promised Henry you wouldn't. He's fine, by the way. He's tired but he's fine. That's... I... Thank you."

 

***

 

Half-whispered words in the darkness.

"Emma, I... It's not just because I made a promise to Henry. I do have my own selfish reasons for not wanting you dead."

A fleeting touch on her cheek. Cool fingertips.

 

***

 

A ray of light.

_Not gonna go towards that. Nope._

_Wait._

"Do you really think you can escape? No one can."

Shadows and trees and so much dried blood.

And the smell. Someone is crying in the forest.

Everything twists and turns. It's both too hot and too cold.

  

***

 

"She seems to be getting better."

"She doesn't look like she's getting better. She looks like she's... not getting better."

"That's the poison leaving the body. Looks much worse than it is. I would predict that your daughter will be up and about in two days' time."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

  

***

  

Gasp.

Groan.

Opening eyes, slowly, slowly, the light hurts... 

A boy sitting on the wooden floor, half-asleep. Alive.

"Henry... I'm not sure Disneyland is... such a good idea." Raspy voice. Dry pain in her throat.

"Emma! You are awake! Are you okay?"

"Are _you_ okay?"

"Yeah, totally! I'm gonna go tell the others you're awake!"

"Wait, come here first."

Clutching him for dear life. No faceless monsters anywhere.

"Ouch, you guys keep hugging me way too hard."

"I love you."

A wide grin. Messy mop of hair. Feisty. Alive. "I know."

  

***

  

Faces. So many faces.

Henry grinning. (Alive.)

Mom and dad smiling through moist eyelashes.

Gold smiling, looking slightly smug.

Regina staring at her like... Like what? Like you stare at a wild animal you both admire and fear.

Hook's... not there.

  

***

 

Emma can sit up without feeling like falling. She can even take a few sips of water from the crystal goblet (pirates and their fancy tableware) that her mom has brought her.

"Welcome back," Gold says. "You are a little ahead of the schedule. I promised your parents two days. But then again, time is different in this place."

"We are so glad you are feeling better," her dad says.

"We can open a portal." That feels like the most important thing to say. The water helps with the sore throat.

"Emma, you don't have to worry about that right now," her mom says.

"Yes, I do. Hook gave me this." Emma digs into her pocket for the bean. She is relieved to find it unharmed by seawater and mermaid blood.

"A magic bean? That's wonderful news, Miss Swan." Gold smiles. 

"We have been away from home long enough, and I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sick of the ocean. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you guys about the bean sooner because of the whole, you know, being kinda out of it due to mermaid poisoning... thing." Emma manages a weak smile.

"Don't worry about that, dearie. The most important thing is that you are now fine and your boy is fine, too. And while, yes, it might seem like it's been a longish journey from our perspective, to those who have been waiting for us in Storybrooke, it will seem as if we have only been gone a day or two. As I said, time is different in Neverland."

"How can time be diff... Never mind. Let's just go home," Emma says. Her eyes keep wanting to get shut.

"Wait, are we sure that Storybrooke is where 'home' is?" her dad asks. And how can he even suggest that they go anywhere else?

"Yes!" Surprisingly (or maybe not), it's Henry who says that.

"What about... Hook?" Emma's mom asks.

"I don't think he's coming," Emma says. It's a horrible thing to say, but it needs to be said aloud. "And we can't really afford waiting around for much longer. Who knows what kinds of psycho fairies Peter Pan will send after us. We can't keep waiting for... Hook to show up."

"I, for one, wouldn't grieve the pirate that much. Somehow, though, I suspect his need for vengeance will keep him alive, no matter what. Too bad he missed the boat, because for us, Storybrooke it is then," Gold says (and he's not even really trying to hide the gleefulness) and takes the bean. "We should be there by tomorrow afternoon, depending on how far from the shore the portal opens this time."

"Get some rest, Emma. We can talk later. It looks like it's Henry's bedtime," her mom says.

Henry looks like he's about to object, but he has to struggle to keep his eyes open and his grandpa is the one holding him in an upright position.

They all turn to go.

Emma is awfully tired, too, but...

"Wait."

It's automatic whose arm she grasps.

There's a questioning look in the brown eyes.

"I... Can I talk to you?"

"I don't see why not."

Her parents exchange a look. Henry looks from Emma to Regina and grins sleepy-happily, like seeing his moms willingly wanting to talk to each other is the awesomest thing in the world.

 

***

 

The silence stretches on. And what is this place even? Must be the Captain's quarters.

"For someone who wanted to talk, you are not saying a whole lot."

"I'm... I'm thinking."

"Does that require my presence, Miss Swan?" A raised eyebrow.

A slight panic. "Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere. I was merely wondering."

"Good."

"It's a reasonable thing to wonder, you know. Your ability to make rational choices seems to diminish the less time you spend in my company."

"Yeah, right."

A few more moments of silence. Then, softly, "Thank you for getting Henry back."

"There was no other option."

"I know."

"I think Neverland ruined tropical islands for me."

"What happened? Other than the obvious encounter with the mermaids?"

"Evil fairies. Magic. Death."

"Hook?"

"No, he said he would be fine. I don't know, though, no matter what Gold said." Quietly, "I left him behind. I ran."

"Oh."

"It was the only way to get Henry to safety."

"In that case you made the right choice."

"It was way too easy."

"Sometimes it is."

"Thank you. I... needed to hear that."

Then, slowly, even though everything hurts, she proceeds to tell Regina the whole story. She leaves out only the discussions she had with Hook. Those don't seem relevant right now. There will be time when they get back home.

By the time she reaches the part with the mermaids, Regina covers her hand with hers and doesn't let go for the longest time. Her eyes shine brown and soft. "I wasn't certain the diamond would work. Rumple said it would, but I wasn't certain... Not after... everything."

Emma doesn't say anything, but her heart feels slightly lighter. She's awfully tired, but her heart is slightly lighter. She's almost asleep when she thinks to ask, "What was wrong with Henry?"

"Well, in light of what you just told me, I think it was a side-effect of accidental magic use. Rumple suspected as much right away. If what Peter Pan said to you is true, then I assume that somehow, when Henry tried to defend himself, his inherent magic reacted so strongly that he collapsed. That happens when the body is not strong enough to contain the powers it holds. He was fine once I absorbed some of the excess magic." Regina's voice is contemplative.

"Good. He seems to be back to normal." _Almost freakily so..._ "In a way I guess I'm glad he didn't have to see... everything," Emma says, eyes half-closed.

"Yes, perhaps that's for the best."

"So... In the future he might not even need dynamite to blow up things." The thought makes Emma's head hurt.

"We'll have to make sure he won't have any reason to resort to such desperate measures."

"Do you honestly think we can do that?"

"Perhaps."

"Yeah, I guess stranger things have happened..."

Regina just smiles at her. It's a good kind of smile. Warm. Not at all suffocating.

  

***

  

The journey home is uneventful.

Emma wonders if the most surreal thing about going to war is the fact that, at some point, it's over.

At some point everything is normal again. As normal as the docks of the first town she has ever thought of as home.

As normal as the eleven-year-old excited to have one last chance at steering a pirate ship.

 

***

  

"That didn't take long," Belle says, smiling, sitting on a bench, a book in hand. She looks like she has known to expect them.

"Don't you think enough separation is enough, my dear Belle?" Gold says.

Emma doesn't totally get their relationship, but, all things considered, she supposes she's in no position to judge.

"Well, Henry, let's get you home," Emma's dad says, a hand on Henry's shoulder.

"No, dad, wait." Emma now knows this is important. It's the most important thing in the world. "Henry, where do you want to go?"

Henry takes one look at Regina, then looks at Emma in a way that's achingly apologetic and uncertain. It's a look that makes Emma's heart break into a million sharp pieces.

The amazement in Regina's eyes, though, mends her heart the tiniest bit. So she asks, "Regina, do you still have Henry's room like it was?"

"Yes, of course," Regina says in a way that suggests that she thinks the whole insinuation that she might ever do anything to change Henry's room is insulting. And, honestly, it is. 

"Then let's go."

 

***

  

It's absurd that Emma has never really taken a look around Henry's room. She hasn't even been there other than that one time when she hacked into his computer.

Because it's not like she has ever really been invited inside the impressive house at 108 Mifflin Street anyway after her first couple of days in Storybrooke other than to, well, be presented with poisoned baked goods. (But hey, _water under the bridge._ ) 

The kid has a ridiculous number of alarm clocks and globes.

"What's with all the clocks?" Emma asks. 

"I don't always wake up so easily," Henry says, absent-mindedly.

And doesn't Emma know it. She senses, though, that that's not the whole story behind the clock collection. There are so many things she doesn't know about Henry. Ten years' worth of things to be exact.

Henry seems to be on a quest of some kind because he walks straight to the wall by the mirror. The wall is covered with pictures of fairytale characters. He takes one particular picture from the wall, tears it into tiny pieces and tosses the shredded pieces of paper into the wastebasket.

"What was that?"

"I didn't feel like having a picture of Peter Pan on my wall."

"I... understand that perfectly well."

  

***

  

"He seemed fine. He took Peter Pan off of his wall."

"That would seem like a rational course of action."

"Yeah... Hey, I'm gonna go. I, like, really need to change into something... less covered in mermaid blood."

"You are really leaving Henry with me?"

"You did fine for ten years."

A look of disbelief.

"Things have to change. Get used to it."

"I suppose you are right."

"Yeah, for once I am. So, I'm just gonna go and... well..." Emma turns to go, hands in her pockets.

"If you wanted to, you could come by tomorrow... Dinner's usually at six. I don't see any reason why a little island detour should change that."

Change. It's a weird thing. And it does weird things to your heart. "Oh. Okay."

  

***

  

Emma's mom is looking at her like she is a teenager who has just been caught smoking behind the school building. Emma knows that look because of... well, the obvious reason. "You left Henry with... _her_? You left Henry with _Regina_?"

"What did you expect me to do? Crash in his room?"

"No, I... I don't know. Are you sure he's going to be fine?" She looks confused, not quite up-to-date with all the _change._

"Yes. Take it easy, mom. I'm just gonna hop in the shower. You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"Emma, I'm sorry, I just... I have to ask. What happened in Neverland? You seem... different."

"Many things happened."

It's hard to explain. After all, she's not even wholly conscious of everything herself.

The only thing she knows is that things have to get better for Henry.

She has to get better for Henry.

  

***

 

Things like hot water and shampoo should probably feel weirder after adventures in various fairytale lands.

But there's something about their normalcy that's so... normal that it's not weird at all. It's just comforting.

It's just the best damn feeling in the world to wash off all the outer reminders of time spent in that place that's already starting to feel a little like a memory of a regular nightmare. A different reality.

Hot water has always been one of the few consistent things in Emma's life. No matter where she's been staying, which foster home, corrective facility, apartment, there's always been hot water (at least, like in Portland, between five and ten pm).

There's just something about hot water that can soothe even the most painful of pains. Wash off any unpleasant memory. A fight at the playground. A particularly close almost-run-in with the authorities. A stranger met in a shady bar somewhere in San Francisco.

(For a fleeting moment she wonders if Regina sees her whole past like that. A different nightmarish reality. And if it's Henry who anchors her in this new life. Like hot water.

And then, as she just stands under the hot spray of water, she wonders how on earth she has ever thought she could have the right to take away someone's anchor.)

  

***

  

Emma sleeps for the most part of almost eighteen hours. When she finally wakes up for real, there's a mostly-eaten grilled cheese sandwich on her nightstand that she has no memory of devouring.

Downstairs, her parents are deep in discussion. When they hear Emma's steps on the stairs and look up, their smiles are just a little too friendly.

Emma's pretty sure that they have been talking about her behind her back. She recognizes a feigned innocent expression when she sees one. 

"Hey," she says, yawning.

"Hey, yourself," her mom says, "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah. I guess I was pretty tired."

"There's coffee," her dad says.

"Thank god. I'm sick of fancy pirate tea." Emma pours herself a big mug of the heavenly-smelling liquid.

There's a momentary silence. It's just the three of them. Has it ever been just the three of them?

"Emma, I'm sorry to have to ask this again, but are you absolutely sure Henry is okay?" Her mom looks uncertain. 

"Yeah," Emma says, a little annoyed. "After everything the kid's gone through, he deserves to sleep in his own bed."

Her mom and dad glance at each other.

"What?" Emma asks.

"Nothing," her mom says.

"I mean, I get that you and Regina haven't had the easiest relationship, or, well, me and Regina, but I'm sure we can trust her when it comes to Henry." It's tiring having to explain these things.

"But what if you never get to see him again? What if _we_ never get to see him again?" her dad asks.

"What do you mean?" Emma asks.

"This would be the perfect opportunity for Regina to take him back for good," her dad says.

"Well, legally, he has always been hers. But I don't think she would have invited me to dinner if she wanted me out of Henry's life."

"She did what now?" her mom asks, looking bewildered.

"You heard me," Emma says, calmly sipping her coffee.

"That's... new," her mom says.

"Yeah," Emma says. Because... no kidding.

"Just don't trust anything with apples," her mom says. She's only half-joking.

Her dad is smiling at his newspaper. He looks like someone who is thinking of a private joke and trying not to laugh at it.

"David, what is it?" her mom asks.

"I had dinner with her once when we were cursed," her dad says, chuckling.

"And?" her mom asks.

"Nothing," her dad says. He's lying.

  

***

 

"Emma! Hi!" Henry says when he opens the door. He looks perfectly happy and normal.

"Hey," Emma says, smiling at the kid.

"Come on in," Henry says.

"Sure..."

The house really is pretty damn impressive. Almost imposing. But Henry moves through it with such ease that it makes it a little easier to breathe there (and Emma's pretty certain she never moved that effortlessly, so relaxed, through any house when she was Henry's age).

 

***

 

The first dinner is pretty awkward, because it's such a new thing and none of them know how to act around each other. Henry keeps glancing between Emma and Regina, looking for any signs of things being about to take a turn for the worse.

That never happens, though.

  

***

  

And it gets easier as it somehow becomes a twice-a-week thing.

By the fifth dinner, Henry is chattering freely, and Emma is learning so many new things about his childhood that her head is spinning.

She can't help thinking that this? This is how it should have been from the very beginning. And not just because Regina is a pretty damn good cook.

 

***

  

Sometime during the sixth dinner, Henry has a curious little smile on his face.

"I think I like you guys more now that you like each other," he says.

Emma is thankful she is not in the middle of swallowing anything because she's sure she would have choked on whatever that had been. Now she just feels a slight panic, because what is it exactly that Henry is implying. Like or _like like_? But no way, Henry is way too innocent to mean anything other than the obvious fact that they are all, for once, getting along.

"Finish your spinach, dear," is all Regina says. She looks calm and collected, if not a little wary.

 

***

  

Henry's words seem to have some kind of effect on Regina, though, because by the time Emma usually leaves (the time Henry goes to his room to finish his homework), she says, "How would you like a drink?"

"Sure, why not," Emma says. She can feel so many unsaid things hanging heavy in the air around them that she is glad at the prospect of maybe having a little alcohol in her system before tackling the words.

The memory of the previous discussion they had in Regina's study is still quite vivid. She remembers how sure she was, at the time, that she was leaving Storybrooke for good and never coming back. Things have taken quite a turn since then.

The apple cider, though, is just as good as it had been the first time.

"Dinner was great," Emma says, because she can't think of anything else to say. "I didn't know spinach could be made edible."

"Have you ever even tried?" Regina asks, mildly amused.

"Not really," Emma admits.

They are silent for a while.

"So, do we need to talk about, you know..." Emma makes vague gestures between them with the hand that isn't holding a glass.

"What do you mean?" Regina asks, looking guarded.

"Come on, you know what I mean. And I think we agreed that honesty couldn't hurt."

"I suppose so." Regina keeps staring at something on the wall.

"Oh, way to be enthusiastic." And Emma can't honestly even believe they are actually going to have this discussion, because how much easier would it be to just run?

"No, I just... It's not simple."

"No, it's not. But we can't start messing with Henry's head if... that's what we are doing. So. What are the facts here? You don't hate me. I don't hate you. What's left when we take that away?"

"Henry. We both care about him more than we care about anything else."

"True, but that's still not... about us. I mean, not really."

"Well, I'm pretty certain you know where I stand on that," Regina says quietly.

And Emma does. It doesn't make sense, but she does know. "I'm not very good at these things," she says.

"Well, I don't know how planning to kill you after first trying to curse you is ranked on your scale of _being good at these things_ , but I can see how all that could make you see me in a less than flattering light."

"Somehow those things are just... water under the bridge after, you know, the whole Neverland thing. You kinda helped me a lot there. Probably more than you know."

Regina gives her a small smile. It looks a little wistful.

"Let's just... not do anything impulsive. For Henry's sake," Emma says.

"That sounds reasonable," Regina says. Then she says, "You still haven't told your parents about Neverland, have you?"

"No, I haven't and I probably won't anytime soon. They wouldn't look at me the same way anymore." Emma closes her eyes. Just thinking about telling her parents everything seems impossible.

"You did all of that because of Henry. They would understand it."

"Yes, on some level maybe. But they can be pretty... judgmental about some things. I guess, after all this time, I feel like I should at least try to be the perfect daughter they never had." Emma sighs. 

"You are hardly perfect." It's not an insult. It's just a statement.

"Oh, I know. Sometimes with... everyone else I feel like I have to pretend like I am."

"You don't have to pretend if you don't want to. Somehow I feel your parents would love you no matter what. They are annoying but that's one thing I think they would get right."

"I... I don't think I can be loved like that." It's been too long. 28 years of no unconditional love do that to you.

"Luckily it's in your genes to accept the unlovable."

"You think I'm unlovable?"

"No, _you_ think you are unlovable. I... I recognize the sentiment." The brown eyes look impossibly sad.

Emma thinks of all the things she knows about Regina's past. She knows most of those things because of what other people, mostly her mom, have told her, but she knows enough to understand that there are certain pains they share. And then there are the pains that they don't share but that are there anyway.

That's all the more reason to not do anything impulsive.

  

***

  

One day, Emma goes back to work. Her parents ask if it's a good idea so soon after everything – certainly Ruby can keep doing what little sheriffing is required in a post-curse, post-chaos Storybrooke that's protected against outsiders? But of course it is a good idea. Why wouldn't it be?

  

***

  

The thing about work is that it means Emma is stuck in her patrol car for hours. Being stuck in the car means having time to think.

It means driving along the quiet streets of Storybrooke at night, with a large thermos of coffee, and not being able to do anything but think.

She can't run from thinking about feelings and stuff.

It's not that she hasn't felt anything before. It's just that, she has always felt so little of anything. Muted feelings, sepia tones. The knot in her chest has been like a black hole, swallowing everything that seems threatening or uncontrollable.

But now? Things are changing.

She thinks of Henry and the warm feeling in her chest is so enormous that it should be scary but it's not. What's scary is the fact that she has already almost lost him twice. That can never happen again.

She thinks of the way her parents occasionally fight, of her dad's slightly short temper and goofy grin, and her mom's exaggerated emotional responses and kick-ass attitude, and she allows herself to wonder how it would have been growing up with them. Not in any fairytale kingdom, but here, in Emma's world. She wonders if she still would have run away at 16 (because it's not like she would have been a totally different person, right?) and if her parents would have found her (because finding people seems to be their family forte) and if her mom would have hugged her and told her it's all going to be okay, running solves nothing, and if her dad would have been slightly angry but ultimately so relieved that he would have given her an awkward hug, too.

She allows herself to think of those things even though they mean having to blink rapidly for a while. There's no reason why she shouldn't think of these things, because there are, for once, no fairytale catastrophes looming in the horizon, no mythological beasts to kill, no murderous witches roaming the streets.

Life is slowly going back to as normal as it can maybe ever get in Storybrooke, Maine.

That's why she also thinks of the fact that she keeps finding herself patrolling Mifflin Street more times every night than any other street, because as unlikely as any petty crime occurring there is, it feels extremely important to keep the occupants of one particularly imposing white house safe. Both of them.

  

***

 

There's something buried in the back of the supply closet at the station that needs to be addressed.

"I'm sorry," Emma says to the leather jacket that still kind of smells of forests and mansweat.

She is sorry, because there's no way she can arrest Regina for his murder. Just like there's no way she can arrest her mother for killing Regina's mother. And the two murders are not exactly comparable, and murder should never feel trivial, but things like murder by magically ripping someone's heart out (or by putting it back in, laden with a poisonous curse) are not things recognized by the laws of this world. They are the stuff of nightmares and fairytales – another reality seeping through. Emma knows this because she killed a fairy and maybe a bunch of teenage guys with magic and she still feels perfectly like herself in this world. She shouldn't, but she does. It's a horrible thought and doesn't make her feel like a good person at all, but it's still true.

She is also sorry, because she has come to realize how little Graham's death actually had to do with Graham. She knows there's no way she is in any way responsible for it, but still she wonders, if, if instead of punching Regina at the graveyard, she had just kissed the hell out of her, Graham would still be here, throwing darts with creepy accuracy. She's glad she didn't, though. Not because she's glad a pretty decent guy had to die, but because whatever would have ensued would probably have been destructive and definitely based on a lie.

She folds the jacket, gently, and places it back on the shelf. Then she closes the door.

 

***

  

One afternoon Henry calls her. "Hey, Emma, do you wanna go to the comic book store with me?"

And because everything is still new and tentative and easily broken, Emma has to ask, "Does your mom know you are calling me?"

"Yeah," Henry says, "It was actually her idea. She said something about you being juvenile enough to maybe like the store more than she does."

Emma is not sure if she should feel insulted or not, but what the hell, the thought of taking her son to the comic book store overpowers any such feelings anyway.

  

***

 

Little by little, Emma is starting to realize something.

There's running away from things and then there's not running.

However, sometimes just _not running_ is not enough. Sometimes just _accepting_ things as they are and going with the flow, like there's no other choice but to stay, almost feels like being trapped.

Like being trapped in a crowded loft with your fairytale parents and a son whose trust has been betrayed time and time again by the adults in his life. A son who has become restless, angry, and anxious as a result. A son you don't know how to love (though you do, so much that it hurts, so much that it gives meaning to everything) because you have no experience of that kind of thing.

Sometimes the only way to escape, to really _feel_ , is to run _towards_ something, something that's worth the risk. 

It's new. It's no less horrifying than the thought of slaying a dragon or going to Neverland with a one-handed pirate. But it's the only right thing to do.

  

***

  

With Henry, it is the easiest. And the hardest, too, because it means Henry is mostly staying in the room that's been his for eleven years. In the house that's been his home for most of his life. With the mother who has been the only one in his life for so long.

Because, ultimately, the most important thing is that it is Henry's choice. It's the one thing Emma never had when she was young – a choice. She's willing to sacrifice for an opportunity for Henry to have that, because she doesn't want to think she has fought mermaids and evil fairies for nothing.

She still gets to spend a lot of time with the kid, though. Sometimes he even stays overnight. If he wants to.

One such evening, Henry is doing his homework, while Emma keeps getting frustrated by paperwork. Being back to work really is kind of a bitch.

"Emma, how much do you know about Christopher Columbus?"

"Not much. He had a boat. Or three," Emma says absent-mindedly. And why isn't Henry's grandma here? She's usually the one who answers these questions. Right, date night with Henry's grandpa. Something Emma has willfully forgotten.

Henry sighs. "I think I'm gonna call mom," he says.

The fact that he doesn't seem guilty about doing something as simple as calling his mother for assistance with homework is exactly the kind of thing that makes it all worth the occasional heartache.

Sometimes the smallest things are the most significant signs of change.

 

***

  

With her parents it's... relatively simple as well.

The key is in not rolling her eyes when they say things like, "We are proud of you."

It's not nearly as easy as it might sound, but it's doable.

And somehow dinners for three become a thing for Emma. Not just with Henry and Regina, but also with her parents.

Sometimes she wonders if her parents regret the decision to stay here in this world instead of going to the place where they would rule a kingdom, but then something happens that makes it clear that they are allowing themselves to get more into some aspects of this reality. Those are also the times when Emma can almost _see_ how having grown up with them would have been.

Like the time her dad says, quite abruptly, in between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes, "I'm thinking of buying a motorcycle."

Her mom looks at him with questioning eyes and asks, "David, are you having a midlife crisis? Because you shouldn't be. Or actually, technically, you should be, but I'm not sure a motorcycle is a good idea."

"Why not? It's not that different from a horse," her dad says.

"Yes, it is. It's faster and much more dangerous. You will realize that when you get past your midlife crisis," her mom says.

"It's not a midlife crisis," her dad says, almost pouting.

He keeps pouting long after dinner as well. He opens a beer, sits down at one end of the couch and keeps staring at the wall, everything about him screaming hurt feelings and being misunderstood. And, eventually, her mom sighs, goes to him and wraps a blanket around his shoulders, kisses his nose, and says, "Fine, if you really must, you can get a motorcycle."

Emma can't help smiling at them, though she pretends she hasn't noticed a thing. For an ephemeral moment she allows herself to wonder if she's ever going to have a relationship like that. If some day, maybe, she will have have a midlife crisis and want to buy something ridiculously loud and expensive and Regina...

But it's a silly thought and she banishes it from her head immediately.

 

***

 

Because with Regina, running towards something is not nearly as uncomplicated. It's more like stumbling, trying to find a pathway in a dark forest.

The thing is, this is not a relationship that's based on being someone's mother or daughter. Regina is someone that Emma has chosen to have in her life. Not because she has to, but because the thought of not having her in her life is starting to feel not just impossible but also improbable. 

And yet, it's undeniably tangled with her relationship with Henry, because, ultimately, what's best for Henry will have to be the foundation for anything that will or won't happen in her other relationships.

Right now the only thing that's happening, the only thing that can happen, is getting to know Regina and allowing her to get to know Emma. That means talking, and talking is maybe the most agonizing form of communication Emma knows.

Her preferable methods of communication have always been of the physical kind, either in the form of punching people and twisting their arms behind their backs or in the form of slamming a faceless stranger against the wall and kissing them. In both situations, she has always been the one in control.

Emma has always thought that people look for relationships because of some desperate and infinitely delusional need to connect with someone. With Regina it's not about that. Because their connection is already there, and they both know it. They are connected not only through Henry but also through a certain kind of quiet understanding of each other's emotional baggage.

So they keep talking. It's not about finding a connection, it's more about exploring that connection, and seeing where it could possibly lead.

There are some aspects of Regina's past that they don't talk about. Those should matter, but somehow they don't. Because this is the world where they have decided to stay, and here, she's not some Evil Queen. Here, she's Regina. And that's the person Emma wants to understand.

 

***

  

More and more, Emma notices that the key to really understanding Regina is in her eyes. Little by little, she is learning to interpret the smallest changes in the brown, all the nuances, small shifts in emotional states that Regina tries to hide but cannot. Her eyes seem to be the only thing she can't control. And how come Emma hasn't noticed that before? How come someone like _Hook_ had noticed it before her? Or maybe she has, she has just chosen to ignore it.

Now that Emma acknowledges that, however, talking to Regina is a whole new experience. She knows that whenever there's a mixed signal, it's the eyes that tell the truth.

Therefore, she is vigilant of the eyes.

It's another one of their after dinner discussions that have somehow become a habit. They have talked about Henry's upcoming field trip and the fact that he really needs a haircut. Now Regina is staring at her wine glass, seemingly thinking of something.

"How did you meet Henry's father?" The voice is casual, but the eyes are asking if this is an acceptable thing to ask.

Surprisingly, it is. "I stole his car. Turned out it was, well, already stolen."

"Sounds like a perfect match," Regina says. Uncertainty masked by sarcasm, say the eyes.

"More like... a match made by whatever powers there are that control this fucked up world."

"Is this where I find out you are deeply religious?" Slightly amused curiosity mixed with disbelief.

"No, no, I'm definitely not... religious. It's just that, what are the odds that the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming just happens to meet the son of the Dark One in Portland, Oregon of all places? Neal seemed to think it was no coincidence and yeah, I guess I don't believe in coincidences of that magnitude either."

"Perhaps that's just how romance works with people from fairytale lands? It was no coincidence your parents met each other either. They were just meant to be, right from the beginning." Hurt. Rejection.

_Hey, come on, seriously?_ "I'm _pretty_ sure that's not it. As far as I know, meant to be fairytale romances rarely mean running to Canada and leaving the other party with stolen property and a one-way ticket to jail."

"Oh. I had no idea." Regret, apology, thankfully no pity.

"Yeah. That's really not something I like to talk about." To anyone. Ever. Not even when they tried to make her.

"Does Henry know?" Gentle concern.

"No."

"Good." Quiet relief. Acceptance. A flicker of dry humor. "You know, some might say his whole parentage is rather unfortunate."

Emma laughs a little, thankful for, well, everything.

And maybe, some day, they will be able to bridge the gap between words and eyes, but they are not quite there yet.

  

***

  

There's only so long Emma can run from certain feelings.

It becomes clear after a few nights of having dreams. Those dreams that require not hot but extremely cold water to get rid of.

Because, okay, _undeniabl_ _y_ _attractive physique_.

Of course she has always been aware of it, but more in a _H_ _ello, attractive stranger, your place or mine_ _?_ kind of way. It's been there as long as she remembers, because, yeah, she has to admit she did get unreasonably upset when she found out about Regina and Graham. And however shyly cute and scruffy guy Graham was, he was certainly not the reason Emma found herself feeling all kinds of pissed off by the thought of the two of them together. 

Now, though, it's more like, _How can your eyes be so brown?_ and, _Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_ (And what the hell, the fact that Emma finds herself quoting Shakespeare in her head is the most unsettling thing in the world. Ever. Her middle school English teacher would be pretty damn proud knowing that she's capable of more than carving Nirvana lyrics on her desk with a pocket knife.)

 

*** 

 

"Emma? Are you listening?" Henry sounds exasperated.

"Yeah, totally, umm, well done on that science project."

"I talked about that, like, ten minutes ago."

"Oh, sorry, what were you talking about?"

"Did you guys have a fight or something?"

"What do you mean?"

"You keep staring at my mom really weirdly."

"No, I... No, we didn't have a fight."

"Because you like each other, right?"

"... right."

"Okay. Good. So about that tattoo..."

"What the... heck are you talking about?"

"I said I might get one when I'm older."

"No. Definitely not."

"Why not? You have one."

"Just... no tattoos, okay?"

"You used to be more fun before."

  

***

 

Ultimately, running towards something occasionally means ending up doing things that are somehow even more surreal than faceless sea creatures, magic and sword fights.

It's... something past midnight on a random Thursday, when Emma's phone rings. She has spent the evening playing chess with Henry (and realized that she's really bad at that), and he is asleep downstairs.

Emma is so sleepy and confused that she doesn't even check caller ID, because she automatically assumes that it must be sheriff business.

It's not, however. It's Regina. Regina who, instead of greeting her like a normal person, asks, "Do you still have access to a chainsaw?"

"What?"

"A chainsaw? I know for a fact that you know how to use one."

"I hope you are not planning a chainsaw massacre."

"..."

"Oh, okay, that was an extremely bad joke. Regina, I'm sorry. Why do you need a chainsaw?"

"I just do. Must you ask so many questions?"

"Are you drunk?"

"That's of no concern to you."

"I'll take that as a 'maybe a little'." For some reason the thought makes Emma smile. And the fact that she knows that Regina's sentences get shorter and grammar more stilted when she's slightly drunk makes her smile even more. (And yes, she knows things are getting out of hand when she finds herself grinning like a fool, talking on the phone in the small hours of the night.)

"Meet me at Town Hall in forty-five minutes. Bring a chainsaw."

"It's awfully late. No, actually it's awfully early. Gimme one good reason to get out of my... relatively comfy bed."

"The reason that you will be there is because Henry didn't get his unhealthy curiosity from me."

The line goes dead.

 

***

 

And damn it if Regina isn't right.

If for no other reason than to be the first responder at a possible scene of a bloody murder, Emma decides to swing by the fire department. She smiles as innocently as possible at the officer doing push-ups extremely sleepily.

"Sheriff," he says.

"Don't mind me," Emma says. "Where do you keep the saw you use to cut down hazardous trees?"

 

***

  

"It took you forty-eight minutes."

"Well, I'm sorry. Because no matter what you might think, I don't exactly sleep next to a chainsaw. Things haven't escalated quite that far yet." Emma can't help the grin, though.

"Fine." Regina looks determined, impossibly red lips tightly pursed, and there's a slightly frantic look in her eyes. The eyes are a little glassy, though, so Emma is pretty certain she is indeed a little drunk.

"Please tell me I'm not here to kill anyone," Emma says as she follows Regina towards the backyard of the building where Regina used to have her office.

"Well, you _are_ here to kill _something._ "

Okay, _creepy_. "What do you mean?"

"My tree."

"Your tree?"

"My apple tree."

"I seem to have a very distinct memory of already having tried to kill your apple tree. I also seem to remember you not being very happy about it at the time." 

"You _did_ kill it. Your presence weakened the curse so the tree died after the mutilation you put it through. I brought it back to life. And to do that, I used my mother's book of spells."

Slowly, Emma is starting to understand. And if she's understanding right, this suddenly seems immense. "And now you want me to kill it again? With a chainsaw?"

"Yes. For good."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It's time for it to go." It's a simple, yet extremely loaded statement.

  

***

  

They keep staring at the stump long after the last roaring sound of the chainsaw has pierced the night air. There are red apples dotting the ground and the trunk of the tree has been cut into smaller pieces. There's sawdust everywhere.

It's a perfectly pleasant summer's night. Calm and quiet. Crickets in the distance.

"I think we just destroyed official town property," Emma points out.

"Well, it's a good thing the current leaders of this town just happen to be your parents. I doubt they'll do anything worse than maybe try to ground you."

"Ha ha. Very funny. I'm the Sheriff. I should arrest myself."

"You should also arrest yourself for driving a stolen vehicle."

"I guess so." Emma is surprised by how little it hurts to think of the circumstances of stealing the Bug. She wonders how talking to all those shrinks and social workers never did the trick.

The silence lingers on.

"That wasn't a Honeycrisp tree," Regina says after a while. She looks mostly sober now.

"What?" Apples aren't really Emma's area of expertise so she's not sure what she's supposed to make of Regina's words.

"I told you it was, but it wasn't. Honeycrisp apples aren't exactly prevalent in our land."

"So it was true then that you have had that tree since you were young?"

"Yes. It's been the one constant through... everything."

"I'm sorry I killed it."

"I asked you to kill it."

"No, I meant the first time. I'm sorry I killed it the first time."

"Don't be," Regina says. Then she adds, "Chainsaws suit you."

That's probably the strangest compliment ever. She's about to point that out when she looks at Regina and...

Okay, the eyes are only conveying one thing.

The eyes say, _I want you._

It's desire, but it's also so much more. Because when they are together, the past doesn't really matter. Or it does, but only because it means they understand each other better than anyone has ever understood either one of them. It means they don't have to hold on to old pains and reminders of them, they can kill them and be done with them.

Emma feels all kinds of helpless and she can't say anything but, "Okay, I think we should get you home."

Because even though she can hear her own voice shaking a little, and her heart is beating like crazy, there's absolutely no reason why she shouldn't say that.

There's absolutely no reason why...

  

***

  

... why she shouldn't find herself pushed against the door after it's barely been closed after them.

She knows she should feel trapped, but she doesn't. She knows she should feel like running away from the intense brown eyes, but she doesn't.

She plunges towards them, feeling curiously powerful and powerless at the same time, searching them for any signs of _n_ _o_ or _t_ _oo much_ , finding nothing like that.

Instead of those things, the eyes are saying _y_ _es_ , and asking, _A_ _re you sure?_

And of course she's sure, she's never been as sure of anything, and there's only one way to express that...

There's the slightest hint of whiskey on Regina's lips, and Emma is covered in sawdust, but those things don't matter, because whatever curses there have ever been between them are rapidly unraveling like the knot in Emma's chest. She feels breathless, like after a long run, but this?

This is something totally worth running towards. It's unlike any kiss Emma has ever experienced.

Because it's not a faceless stranger she's kissing; it's Regina and Regina's lips are soft and it's not about conquering someone, it's about saying all the things that can't be said using words.

Like, _Y_ _ou are safe with me._

Like, _T_ _his is right._

Like, _Y_ _ou do realize you are_ _ridiculously_ _beautiful_ _?_

She buries her hands in the perfectly styled hair because the prospect of making it appear slightly tousled is the single most insanely hot thing she can imagine. At least that's what she thinks until she feels fingernails at the base of her skull, pulling her even closer, because that? That's the single most insanely hot thing anyone could ever imagine.

(And if this is what it feels like to fall hopelessly for someone, then she's glad she hasn't had to go through it before because, god, to think that she thought that talking is the most agonizing form of communication when, really, what's agonizing is wanting someone that much and actually being able to touch them. How do people even survive it?)

  

***

 

Emma is still feeling breathless when she's sitting in her car in front of her parents' building.

Because okay. _Dang._

Deep breaths. Desperately hoping that no one has noticed her absence.

Of course, when she opens the door as silently as she can, she hears a boy's voice asking, "Emma?"

Shit.

"Hey, Henry," she says in a hushed voice.

"Did you go somewhere?"

"Yeah, it was no big deal. Someone needed help with... a tree."

"Was it my mom?"

_Shit._

"Why do you ask?"

"Just asking." There's something devilish in Henry's expression, though.

But there's no way he can suspect anything, right? No matter how smart he is.

  

***

 

The thing about smart kids, though, is that they are, well, smart. That's something Emma is painfully reminded of the next day.

"That's a pretty ugly tree," Henry says.

"Yeah," Emma says.

And it is. It's probably the ugliest baby apple tree in the world. But it's not Emma's fault that, as it turns out, the places in Storybrooke that sell apple trees aren't exactly stocked with the Honeycrisp variety. Besides, she has a thing for ugly ducklings. Those remind her of herself.

"Do you know what giving someone an apple means in Greek mythology?" Henry asks, mischief in his eyes.

"No, but I have a feeling you are going to tell me." And she knows it's not going to be anything good, judging by the barely concealed grin on Henry's face.

"It was considered a marriage proposal," Henry says, and for a second Emma wonders if this is going to be _You, me, Neal, castle in Fairytale Land_ all over again, but then Henry says, "Nah, I don't think you're ready yet."

"Yeah, no kidding," Emma says, feeling slightly relieved but still kind of awkwardly panicky. Because it's a hell of a long way from tentatively stumbling towards something to... that.

"It's legal in Maine, though," Henry, now openly grinning, says, clearly enjoying Emma's squirming. (And is it even a wonder that someone with his unfortunate parentage has a slightly sadistic streak?)

"Shut up, kid. Let's just... Let's go."

 

***

  

"Emma and I got you a tree."

"Oh, Henry," Regina says, pulling Henry into a hug.

Over his head, though, she looks at Emma. It's a look that says, _Are you sure you don't regret anything_ _?_

"It should be Honeycrisp, but... I'm no expert, so..." Emma shrugs. "It's also kinda ugly," she adds, but she smiles, and she hopes the smile says, _Hell, yeah_ _, I'm sure_ _._

"It's perfectly fine," Regina says, smiling her good smile. Warm, tender, not at all suffocating.

And it's right then that Emma knows that maybe what the ugly baby apple tree needs is just a chance at becoming something more. Who knows, it might grow into something pretty damn beautiful.

  

_*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :')


End file.
